Challengers of the Unknown
by katamarann
Summary: Collection of various fic prompts focusing on Anna and Bates. Ratings will vary, but will most likely remain under T.
1. Back Scratches

I got several responses to the post of _**Non-Sexual Acts of Intimacy.**_

miss-ute asked for **Back scratches** , (along with another to come) and an anon asked for the same (with another to come as well…two for one!). I'll be collecting these and other challenge/prompt fics into this multi part post, _Challengers of the Unknown_. (title taken from my favorite song, by The New Pornographers)

* * *

 **:Back scratches:**

It had started that morning with the rising sun, the little prickle of sensation between her shoulder blades, just out of reach and just beyond the edges of her consciousness as she descended the staircase.

She gave it a few quick swipes with her fingers when she could, to no end. Of course not at the table at breakfast, lest Mr. Carson interrogate her with incredulously raised brows and a sharp tongue. She may be favoured, but she wasn't above rebuke.

By luncheon the itch had become almost intolerable. She paused as she put Lady Mary's freshly pressed dress on its hanger and, after looking around, arched the wooden contraption over her shoulders in search of sweet…

Lady Edith's voice just outside the doorway stopped her, and she resumed her work, her shoulders twitching involuntarily.

She even went to Mrs. Hughes's study in search of the old wooden back scratcher she knew the housekeeper kept hanging behind a cupboard door, only to find the tiny hook empty. She could have wept.

That evening, as she sat at the dinner table, her shoulders heaved again and she rolled them, hoping that the starchy fabric of her dress would soothe the worried spot of skin. She hoped no one would notice.

Mr. Bates did. Of course he would have. She hadn't seen him all day, and he noticed that split second of agony in her expression and looked at her with concern from across the table as she pressed her lips together to hide a grimace. Anna gave him a reassuring smile and nod and looked back to her plate. After Mr. Carson dismissed them all from dinner, and with a quick glance to make sure that neither Thomas nor Mrs. O'Brien saw her, she stole out into the courtyard.

The need to scratch was beyond her own sense of personal dignity at this point. She contorted her arm over her shoulder, then back around her middle and up, in search of the spot, only to find her her short little fingers not quite long enough to reach.

"It's a terrible thing," she heard Mr. Bates say softly from the doorway, "to have something you desperately want just out of reach."

Anna spun and shot him a withering look even as she blushed at being caught. "I've had this spot of bother since morning," she explained, straightening her dress and ducking her head. "A spider bite, or some such. I just can't get at it."

His hand raised slightly, his fingers flexing, then he lowered it and sighed. He seemed to be considering the same thing she had thought of asking him.

Then at the same time, "If you don't think it too forward…"

And, "Could I dare to ask?"

They laughed nervously and she gave him a shy smile.

"Where?" he whispered as he circled his arms around her, looking to make sure they had no audience.

"Just…" Anna flexed her shoulders. "Just under the top bit of corset."

She jumped when she felt his fingers graze her through the fabric of her dress, then relaxed as he slowly worked two fingers downward. "A bit to the left," she directed, closing her eyes. She ducked her head against the solid warmth of his chest. "Down." When his fingers encountered the top of her corset, she sighed. Still out of reach.

"Better?" he asked, his whisper soft yet rumbling, sending a new set of sensations down her spine.

She shook her head in frustration. "It's no use," she said. "I should just wait until tonight and get at it then."

But instead of feeling the cold withdraw of his hand, she felt one finger slide into the opening at the back of her dress, between the buttons. He swept downward, his fingertip hooking under the top edge of the corset and…

"Oh," she whispered, both from the intimacy of it and the feeling that finally the itch was being relieved.

Mr. Bates wiggled his finger back and forth, the nail scraping her to gooseflesh and sending tingles of relief all over. Then he stopped, and a second finger joined its mate, just for a moment, and she nearly exploded from the sensation.

And then his touch was gone. But then, so was the itch.

He withdrew slightly and brought his hand up for her to see, and pressed between his fingers was a small, curved feather, probably from her own pillow. "That was it," he whispered.

"That was it," Anna repeated, her shoulders relaxing finally. "Thank you."

"It was no bother," he said, and she could practically hear him smiling in the darkness of the courtyard. He took her back in his arms and suddenly the relief spread all the way from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.

And with a blush she was glad he couldn't see, she wondered what else his fingers could do.


	2. Holidays Together

From **_Cuddle Up a Little Closer - A Domesticity/Intimacy Prompts Meme_** in response to annambates, who asked for _13\. Holidays together._

Set around the time of the S6 Christmas special, and contains spoilers for S6 in general.

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He thought he'd been so careful, concealing it from her.

But he'd been frustrated and careless after he'd begun working on the second one, and when she winced and sat down quickly on their little sofa, the one with the repaired legs, and plucked at the bottom of her stockinged foot, he winced. Anna hissed and, rather ungracefully, he would silently add to himself, she pulled the offending sliver of soft wood from the thin material and tsk that she would have to stitch the bottom back together before bed.

Swallowing his guilt, John moved from his chair to sit beside her on the sofa and offered to remove her stocking and mend it for her himself. She tried to protest, but as his aching fingers, red and with two small blisters forming on his finger and thumb, began creeping up her calf to remove the offending garment, Anna's brows rose and she bit her lip in anticipation. They didn't really get any further that night than a good foot rub that helped relieve her swollen ankles. The stocking was magically repaired by morning, after Anna had gone to bed and he'd made a lie of insomnia as his alibi to stay in the parlor and continue his work. This time, he made sure that all of the wood shavings were properly disposed of by morning.

He continued working every chance he had, taking every opportunity to slip home during the day rather than let her make the walk herself. The trip was getting more difficult and tiring for her by the day as autumn rolled into early winter, and there was no need for her to travel any more than she had to. It made him slightly nervous to leave her at the big house so often, so close to the arrival of their baby, but he was a man with a purpose. The first three ended up being tossed into the fire, but the fourth one showed enough promise that he kept working on it, the scrape of the knife and rub sandpaper becoming a form of meditation as he recalled what he'd been taught so long ago.

On Christmas morning, he presented Anna with a small, wrapped package. She balanced it on her swollen belly as he sat down beside her, worried that it wasn't good enough or that she would think him silly for it. But when her face brightened and her eyes brimmed with happy tears, he knew he'd made the right choice in restarting a Bates family tradition.

"It's...a bear?" Anna asked, turning the small, carved wooden toy over in her hands.

John exhaled and nodded. "It _was_ a lion, but I went too far and lost the mane and tail," he admitted sheepishly. "It's for the baby," he added. "My grandfather used carve these little animals for us every Christmas, for myself and my cousins. I received one every year until he passed when I was around fifteen years old. I kept them in a wooden box for years. I treasured them."

Anna clutched the brightly painted toy to her breast, shiny with fresh lacquer that he'd managed to finish applying only yesterday. "It's wonderful," she whispered, then smiled as she pressed it to her belly, which moved slightly as their baby kicked and stretched. "He seems to think so as well."

"We're back to _he_ again," John smiled, covering her hand on her belly.

Anna rolled her eyes. "It changes every day, it seems," she said. "Fitting my mood or how much he...or _she_ is moving around." She studied the lopsided animal that would never stand properly on all four legs. "What happened to them? The ones your grandfather gave you?"

John sighed and grimaced at the memory. "Vera threw them away when I was in prison," he said quietly. "I asked after them on that last trip before she died. I'd told her when she and I were newly married that I wanted to give them to our children, if we had any, but..." He spread his hands, bitter at the memory of finding the old carvings gone, of the mocking tone she took when she laughed and said Anna would give him children to pass them down to, the stinging slap across his cheek followed by the edge of a plate that cut his skin, soothed only when he returned to Downton and Anna's fingers grazed the wound. He knew now that children were a blessing, but he was truly thankful that he and Vera had never had any.

"I will carve a new animal for this little one every Christmas, as long as they appreciate it," he went on, putting on a hopeful smile. "I'll get better at it, I promise."

"I think it's perfect, Mister Bates," Anna said as she leaned over awkwardly and gave him a tender kiss, her belly and their baby between them. "Perhaps you should carve a second one," she crooned against his lips as she swore she felt four feet and three hands all at once. "Just to be certain."


	3. Finding the Other Wearing Their Clothes

Another prompt response from _Non-Sexual Acts of Intimacy_. miss-ute asked for **_:Finding the other wearing their clothes_**

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Hungry and bone achingly weary, John half-stumbled in the darkness up the sparsely traveled little country road that led from Downton to the cottage. He'd managed to get back to Downton with Lord Grantham's suitcases just after dinner, having taken the last train back from London after His Lordship's midday phone call home had revealed that Anna hadn't been feeling well and Mr. Branson had driven her back to the cottage.

Now, as he approached their little home, he noticed that there was no light through the windows, no cheerful glow from the fire in the parlour. His heart ached that she was there alone, probably shivering as it was bitterly cold that evening. He carefully turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open to find his suspicions correct, that she had not lit a fire at all, but he could see the faint glow from the lantern they used in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. He crept up quietly, whispering her name as he went, not wanting to startle her.

"Mister Bates?" he heard her say faintly and a bit frightened sounding.

He smiled at the sound of her voice and pushed the bedroom door open to find her standing on the other side of the bed, clutching a brass candlestick in one hand and cradling her belly in the other. Her relief upon seeing him was immeasurable and she awkwardly met him halfway, turning to her side as he caught her in a fierce embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and listened to her sigh against his chest.

"You're _home_ ," she crooned.

"And you're wearing my shirt," he noted, smiling as he bunched the fabric up in his hands, then smoothed it as he rubbed her back.

Anna smiled sheepishly and plucked at the worn striped fabric. "My nightgown is getting too tight across my middle," she explained. "And with you gone…" She sniffled and swiped her hand across her nose.

"What?" he asked, steering her to sit down on the bed.

"It smells like you," she whispered with tears in her eyes.

All talk of false labor pains and early London departures were cast aside in favour of him lighting a fire downstairs and returning to find her asleep in their bed, her hand draped across her stomach, a content expression on her face. John grinned and changed into his flannel pyjama bottoms, shivering all the while, and slipped into bed behind her.

The next time he wore that shirt, months later, he smiled because it smelled like _her._


	4. Patching Up a Wound

Another prompt response from _Non-Sexual Acts of Intimacy_. neonghostwolf asked for **_:Patching Up A Wound:_**

Set during 2x06, after Bates returns from London.

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When he told her that his trip to see Vera had been worse than she could have imagined, he meant it. His cheek burned hot both from the flying teacup that Vera had hurled at him as well as the shame of the entire ordeal. The memory of his wife, in name only, screaming insults and epithets as she came at him, wild-eyed and hands grasping for anything she could throw at him was a sharp contrast to the gentle hands and loving eyes that caressed him now.

In the end, after going through her tirade and breaking most of the things his mother held dear, Bates simply picked up his coat and hat and stormed out to Vera's following shouts. He turned back one last time to see Vera leaning against the frame of the door, a blank expression suddenly washing over her face, as if everything had suddenly changed.

He had no idea that in a few hours, while he was on a train headed north, everything would indeed change.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Anna asked softly as she leaned toward him on the crate they shared, a damp kerchief in her hand.

Bates sighed and closed his eyes. "I'd rather not speak of it anymore," he confessed.

By Anna's silence, he knew that she was disapproving, but understanding.

He winced as the cloth stroked at his cheek, sweeping gently upward to wipe away the tiny crust of blood that had formed again. Her fingers followed behind the cloth, the cool touch of her hand was more soothing than any balm he could have procured from the chemist in the village.

"You won't need stitches," Anna said confidently, "but it may leave a tiny scar."

Bates had to chuckle softly at this. Of all of the scars he bore, this one may take the longest to heal. He sat patiently as Anna dabbed a tiny bit of alcohol, trying not to flinch as the liquid burned his skin.

"There we are," Anna whispered as she drew her fingers down his cheek lovingly before remembering where they were and withdrawing her hand. "I can even put a little dab of Lady Mary's concealer on it so as no one will wonder what you got up to."

"That won't be necessary, but I thank you nonetheless," Bates replied, dropping his eyes ever so briefly to her lips before meeting her blue eyes again, so filled with hope and affection. He wanted badly to kiss her, but it didn't feel like the proper time.

After a few seconds of silence between them, Anna stood up and smoothed her skirts. "Right then," she said, her expression a bit crestfallen. "We should get back inside before anyone misses us."

Bates nodded and rose as well, but reached out to touch her sleeve. "Anna," he breathed. "I don't know when or how, but we'll be free someday."

She didn't turn to him, but she took his first two fingers in hand and gave them a gentle squeeze before heading into the house and leaving him alone.

Unbeknownst to them both, he'd already become a free man.


End file.
